An Unusual Turn of Events
by Ripper101
Summary: It's a rather different shipper, this one BuffyEthan. Not interested? Don't bother! This will be a series so let me know if there's interest in me posting the following chapter. Oh, it's postChosen!
1. Hot Summer Nights

Pairing: Buffy/ Ethan Rayne.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters.  
  
Author's Note: Yes, I know most people will just say, "Oh God!" and move on. And I know this is unusual. And I know that this seems very abrupt and out of character just now. But bear with me. I'll address all of it in the following chapters.  
  
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The night was hot, the bar was full and the beer was warm- apart from that, Buffy didn't let herself think too much about anything. She took another gulp of the bitter-tasting stuff that the bartender had drawn for her and stared morosely at the scratched wooden surface beneath her hands.  
  
"Well, well, well," a voice spoke up behind her, "And what have we here?"  
  
She knew who it was even before she turned and she was tempted to throw a straight right cross to the guy's face except that it required energy she didn't have at the moment. So she simply spun on her seat and glared at Ethan Rayne distastefully. "What do you want?" she sneered, "I thought you usually want to see Giles."  
  
He slid into the seat next to hers. "You know," he murmured conspirationally, "I never really expected to see anyone at all here. I certainly didn't know you liked these dear old-fashioned pubs."  
  
She stared the insect over and decided it was far too hot to argue. "I don't really care about it," she replied simply, "Giles mentioned the place once."  
  
Ethan stilled and she felt the tension as he echoed her words, "Mentioned? You used the past tense, my dear."  
  
Buffy knew what he was asking, but she didn't want to twist the knife in the wound. Maybe back in Sunnydale she would have enjoyed that but no more, and especially not in such heat. "He's still alive, Ethan. In fact, he's more alive than I've ever seen him."  
  
Something about the say she said it made Ethan look at her shrewdly. "The masks are coming off, I presume?" Buffy nodded wordlessly and Ethan made a soundless toast to his old comrade for finally getting up the courage to do it. "I take it you don't approve?"  
  
Gray eyes looked up at him and for once they weren't filled with animosity. Then Buffy looked away and shrugged, answering his question with a half- smile. "It's none of my business and he's already told me that. I just wanted to know that he was okay, right? But no-oo! He got all Ripper and blew me out."  
  
Ethan laughed. He knew all about that particular little Mr. Jeckyl and Hyde personality. "My dear Slayer, you of all people must know that Ripper is really who the man is! And let me add that Ripper is not that bad once you're used to him."  
  
"I guess!" But Buffy wasn't all that convinced. She wanted her Watcher back and never mind that she sounded about five years old when she said that, she just really needed Giles to sit down and talk to her like he used to. "He's just changed so much. Well, actually, he's just really different to how I knew him."  
  
"Masks," Ethan commented serenely, tossing down a whiskey chaser, "Everyone uses them. Ripper is perhaps more complex than most people, but no one can be exactly how you see them. Take your little friend, for example- Willow, if I remember right- the sort you'd never believe would hurt a fly. But give her power and she's a merciless Goddess, passing judgments that are really not hers to make."  
  
"That was different," Buffy muttered, going red and waving his words away with her left hand.  
  
Surprisingly, Ethan caught that little hand in his slim fingers and pressed sympathetically. "Slayer, no one ever shows anyone their true face. Ripper has never trusted *himself* enough to be truthful. And his ideals remain, no matter what he acts like; rather tragic actually, all things considered. He was a barrel of laughs back in the old days."  
  
"Why do you care so much?" Buffy snapped, pulling her hand away and wiping it on her jeans in disgust. Ethan only chuckled at her actions and tweaked a dyed blonde curl. Buffy swung in anger at him but he caught her wrist in his fingers. Whether he was unexpectedly strong or Buffy was less than half- hearted, he clamped her hand firmly to the countertop and wagged a finger in her face. "Temper, temper," he deplored teasingly, letting go.  
  
They sat in silence for a while as Ethan ordered another drink. It was only when Buffy was contemplating leaving that he answered her still-hanging question- "He was my friend once. We may have moved on but I would not like to see him hurt."  
  
Buffy looked up laconically and smiled knowingly. "So it's not something more?"  
  
Ethan shook his head and gurgled in amusement. "If you are implying what I think you are, then no; not for either of us. As for anyone else since I've known him, I can't really tell you. But not me and none that I know of. Travers may have persuaded him otherwise, you never know; and I always did find his pressure on dear Ripper a little too intense."  
  
Buffy shuddered and gave him a mock glare. "If you must torture me with images I *really* don't want, why that one?" she grumbled, paying her shot and smiling nicely at the cute guy who took her money.  
  
Dark eyes darkened even more with a mischievous glimmer even while the mystic looked innocently at her. "Would you have preferred me to bring up the time he almost broke a man's back in that very corner there?"  
  
Buffy looked at him with a thoughtful expression and he noticed with fascination that a little drop of sweat was trickling down her neck. He suddenly wondered whether she was remembering what and who he was and whether or not she had scrounged up the energy to kick him senseless; except she smiled and shook her head at him. "Actually, that's one I can believe."  
  
She got up and began to walk out. Ethan looked at her slight figure winding it's way between the other customers and he made his usual split second decision, "Here!" he snapped hurriedly, slamming a couple of twenties on the table, "Keep the change, mate."  
  
"Ta," the guy grunted, "Have a nice night."  
  
"Hope so, love," Ethan commented, "I bloody well hope so!" He raised his voice as he caught up to her outside, "Well, since it's such a lovely night, why don't I drive you home?"  
  
She stared at him in disbelief and asked, "A 'lovely night'? Are you insane or do you have heatstroke? It's too damned hot to think!"  
  
"Well, then, let me drive you to a place where you can cool down," Ethan amended promptly. Buffy looked torn at the thought of coolness and at distrust for this man who had only ever caused trouble.  
  
"No," she said finally, "And don't follow me, you creep! And don't even think of causing trouble 'cause I swear I'll break your neck if you do!" She was annoyed to find his eyes looking delighted, warming to her in ways she didn't want to think about considering they had flicked below her neckline for a second.  
  
"How utterly charming," Ethan smirked, "but just think of what Ripper would do to me if I didn't protect you with my life."  
  
"Kill you, probably," Buffy said bracingly, "And good riddance!"  
  
"To bad rubbish? Yes, isn't it?" Ethan agreed, "But then I knew that before."  
  
Buffy was walking away but paused enough to toss one last statement over her shoulder. "Yeah! You don't really go in for the masks, do you?"  
  
"I have more masks than you'll ever find out, Buffy," Ethan said quietly.  
  
The Slayer stopped dead in her tracks and stared doubtfully at him with a frown in her gray eyes. Not only did the man sound honest, he sounded far too certain of himself. She felt the pull of the challenge in his eyes. "I don't *want* to find out, Rayne."  
  
Ethan shrugged and got into his sporty little car. He leaned across and pushed open the front passenger door. "Get in, you silly girl," he said impatiently, "I'm hardly going to rape you!"  
  
"How do I know that?" Buffy retorted, crossing her arms but taking a cautious step forward. "I mean I don't know anything about you."  
  
He looked at her, eyes warm and laughing, "My dear," he protested dramatically, "**Never** on a first date!" He was stunned to see Buffy start laughing as she strode forward and slid into the car next to him. He had never expected her to agree. And now here she was and was he mad to think of taking her 'There'?  
  
"So, Ethan Rayne, where are you abducting me to?" she asked good-naturedly, adjusting the cooling vents to hit her full in the face. He tossed an appreciative smile at the sight of her upturned face with its closed eyes and fluttering hair. Even the unremarkable attire of jeans and a thin tank top looked good on her. He was reminded of one of the frequently desperate loves of his youth who had had much the same hair and lean, fit body. But Eve was long gone, along with the others, and he really was taking her to 'There'.  
  
"It's a rather long journey so I hope you can sit still for an hour," he commented, before pulling out of the parking space and driving down the road with a purr in his throat and a roar of the car's engine. Buffy's answer was to stick her tongue out at him and wriggle further into her seat.  
  
As time went on she was forced to admit that he hadn't been exaggerating; the drive was substantially longer than an hour and involved driving out of the City. She stared at the emergence of outer City suburbs and the beginnings of rural splendor with a growing fear for what she had gotten herself into. She remembered Giles mentioning once in a rambling speech on something else how it was through trusting Ethan Rayne just once that he had gotten himself turned into a Feorol. She wondered what the mystic had planned for his latest victim.  
  
Ethan sensed the change in moods beside him almost as if she were talking. Funny how he'd never noticed how open the Slayer was in her emotions. "On hot summer nights, I generally take a trip to this place simply because it stays fairly cool no matter what the temperature. And there's always a place to paddle in."  
  
Buffy stilled and looked at him with round eyes. "You're taking me to a pool?"  
  
"A little pond actually, hidden in the most intriguing little clearing," he corrected her, "It even has ducks. I hope you're not sensitive to the slight taint of Chaos magic? Oh good! We'll get along famously then!"  
  
Buffy just shook her head in wonder and let Ethan do the driving. When he finally pulled up inside a clearing and motioned to her to get out, all her fears were back full force. Add to that her Slayer senses tanked up by the sight of the dark natural cover around her and she was confident she shouldn't leave the car.  
  
"I'm not kidnapping you and if you'd prefer to sit here then so be it," Ethan reminded her, dangling the keys in her face.  
  
Buffy looked at him and noticed the amusement flicking at the corner of his wide mouth. Maybe it was the heat talking or the beers, because she was suddenly wondering what that mouth would taste like. As soon as the thought came, it left again, leaving nothing but a long 'ewwww' in its place.  
  
"Well?" Ethan asked patiently, still offering her the keys to the car.  
  
Buffy blinked and then bounded out nervously, ready to kill anything that touched her. Ethan followed and then took her arm gently, pulling her absently along with him as he led her down a particularly meandering way to another grassy area. And there, under the faded moon and the watery stars, Buffy Summers was treated to the spectacular sight of a small, clear pond fringed with the usual mucky green stuff and surrounded by springy grass and shrubs.  
  
"This is- it's just- Wow!" she whispered, staring around.  
  
"It's far too quiet for me," Ethan complained. But there was a note that the Slayer noticed in his voice, a note that said he didn't necessarily lament that fact as much as he would like her to believe.  
  
"Take off the mask, Ethan," she asked suddenly, looking intently at him.  
  
To say Ethan Rayne, disciple of Chaos and mercenary of magic, was stunned and confused was the least. To say he stared at her with his mouth open would be exaggeration; he was far too well trained to show it openly. He settled for a more sedate "Pardon?"  
  
"You said it was too quiet," Buffy supplied kindly, "But you don't really think that."  
  
"Really?" Ethan mocked smoothly, "What exactly do you think that someone like me wants with a place like this, pretty as it is? I can't use it for my wicked schemes. Though I suppose there are a few ducks and grubs in the water that I could terrorize-"  
  
Buffy discovered that the most effective way to silence him was with her mouth and she proceeded to use that discovery until the both of them were breathless. After which she pulled away quickly and gagged, spitting and scrubbing furiously at her lips. "Oh, my God," she gasped, "I kissed Ethan Rayne! I kissed *Ethan Rayne*!"  
  
Ethan didn't know whether to be insulted or amused. He watched her stomp up and down and agonize with her mobile little face and wildly waving hands for what seemed like forever. Until she turned her gimlet-like gaze on him and he wondered somewhat fondly whether he should quake with fear. "Are you expecting me to be scared?" he asked interestedly. She didn't answer so he kindly continued. "Yes, we kissed. It doesn't have to go further than that, my dear. Happens fairly frequently in my world though admittedly not when I'm discussing ducks." She still remained silent so he sighed and dropped the act. "Consider it forgotten, Slayer. I didn't expect you to kiss me and I don't expect you to do it again. Let's just paddle and cool down, shall we?"  
  
Buffy was trying to collect her scattered thoughts from the grass in which they had fallen. But try as she might, she felt like she was roasting from the inside. The heat was pounding through her and she was melting straight into it, her body weak and her mind hazy. Maybe that's what this is, she decided, I've got sunstroke so I can't possibly be responsible for anything that I do right now. Once that was decided, she felt better.  
  
"Buffy?" Ethan asked worriedly, peering down into her face.  
  
And then it hit him- the heat. She was burning up, her gray eyes spitting fire that licked out at him and took his breath away. He was consumed, burnt and condemned at the stake and in his usual rash fashion, Ethan Rayne decided that if he had to go, he'd go out in a blaze of glory and damn the ducks and what they might witness! He grabbed Buffy, gripping her thin arms in his hands and pulled her in and up to his mouth, grinding his lips against hers in an effort to quench his thirst.  
  
Buffy whimpered, pulling away long enough to whisper, "No masks, Ethan." Dark eyes flickered at her in an impassive face and then that mouth smiled. "No masks," Ethan agreed, taking in the flushed cheeks and sparking eyes, "By the way, you still hate me, don't you?" Buffy pressed a kiss into the soft skin of his neck before answering, "Well duh! And if you dare turn me into anything I'll tear your scrawny ass to shreds." 


	2. To Slay or be Slain

There was sunlight somewhere in near vicinity and it seemed to be doing its best to creep under her eyelids. Buffy was strenuously trying to convince herself that she really wasn't awake just yet, based on the conviction that she was dreaming. But her head did feel like it was cushioned on something soft. The something soft stirred under her and Buffy woke up just that little bit more. She still refused to open her eyes, though. Tentatively, she felt around her. The something soft turned out to be male, judging by the body part trapped under her far-flung thigh. And at that point sanity returned.  
  
"Oh shit," she squealed, jumping up and grabbing the first piece of clothing that came to hand. It turned out to be Ethan's shirt but that was okay; at least it was big enough to cover her properly.  
  
"My dear, you're scandalizing the ducks," Ethan murmured in amusement, peeping up at her from under his lashes. The man didn't seem in the least bit concerned about lying absolutely buck-naked in a public place. Buffy hastily averted her eyes.  
  
"What the fuck happened here?" she snarled.  
  
Ethan sighed and propped himself up on his elbows, body arranging itself with the inherent grace of the truly sensuous. But the man himself was more preoccupied with raising his eyebrows and looking amused, "I thought that was the fairly obvious part."  
  
"I didn't mean that," Buffy gulped, "How did you- *why* did you- did you put some kind of spell on me?"  
  
"Of course not, you silly goose," Ethan snapped, sitting up with very real anger flashing in his eyes, "What the bloody hell do you take me for, some kind of sexual predator?"  
  
"That's exactly what I take you for," Buffy shouted back as she flung his shirt back in his face and began to get dressed, "For Pete's sake, put some clothes on, Rayne! And if you mention this to anyone, I'll kill you."  
  
"Save it, Slayer. It's getting old!" Ethan took his time, the frozen glitter of ice in his dark eyes warning even the Slayer not to push him too far. And Buffy was mature enough to remember that he might be no match for her physically but that he had ample resources in the delicate tips of his fingers and the lash of his tongue.  
  
They both stomped back to the car in silence, Ethan cursing as he realized the paint had been scratched. "Fucking hell," he snarled, fingers flickering gently over the gash, "Get in!"  
  
Buffy accordingly got in with her own brand of haughty grace and sat stiff- backed in her seat with her arms folded across her chest while he pulled away and swerved around back to London. "I don't ever want to see you again," she stated softly, "And don't even think of telling Giles or anyone else what happened last night, okay?"  
  
"Now why ever would I be proud of bedding you?" Ethan asked silkily, eyes fixed on the road, "After all, it's hardly an arduous task."  
  
"If you weren't driving, I'd slap you for that!"  
  
"If you raise your hand to me, you'd soon know never to try that on a Chaos mage!"  
  
"You're just some two-bit sorcerer who knows a few good magic tricks! Giles said so!"  
  
"Giles being the person you trust most at this point of time? I thought you said he was currently engaged in tearing off his masks. Can't really trust a man who has lived a lie for the last twenty-five years, now can you?"  
  
"Shut up, Ethan!"  
  
"Hold your tongue, Slayer!"  
  
Buffy held her peace for a while, shaking inside at the thought that she really was alone in this. Giles would most likely just tell her it was all her fault- again!- and that she should just deal and forget it. Willow and Xander wouldn't actually get past the "Ewww! How could you?" stage and Dawn would likely take out a contract on Rayne. She was now boiling to death in what the English so quaintly called 'An Indian Summer' and she was all alone. Which sent her thoughts in another direction, one that involved *seeing* things she'd never thought to see in another person's eyes.  
  
"Thank you," she muttered.  
  
The car swerved suddenly as Ethan turned to look at her with a dropped jaw. "Pardon me?" She muttered something inaudible and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Slayer, much as I appreciate your appreciation, what exactly are you thanking me for?"  
  
"I don't think you meant 'That' to happen," Buffy told the window on her side, "And- and that place was beautiful."  
  
"Yes, well, it is one of my favorite spots," Ethan said dryly, "I frequently use it for my rituals. The water, you know, and abundant nature; they provide a stronger framework for casting spells involving the four elements."  
  
And there was one question she wanted to ask and she didn't really know how to ask it. "Did the masks come off?" she asked nervously, "I seem to remember telling you that it's been too long for me and I *so* don't want to know that you have the lever thing on me."  
  
"Lever thing?" Ethan frowned in perplexity and then smiled, "Leverage, you mean? No, I don't believe I do. You happen to know what a man my age looks like without his protective armor of clothing; that should be enough to afford you a few cheap shots at my expense."  
  
Buffy giggled for an instant and then sobered up, remembering that she was angry and didn't want anything to do with him. Ethan shook his head imperceptibly as he felt the change in attitude at his side. He might definitely not have meant to shag Buffy Summers in the moonlight, but there it was- some of the most intriguing things in his life happened by accidents and circumstance.  
  
"Turn left here," she finally instructed him, "I- I need to get to the Council."  
  
Ethan said nothing but took a shortcut. Obviously he was well aware of where the offices were; he'd made it his business to know where to steer clear of. Pulling up at the old office block that now housed the slowly reemerging Watcher's Council, he wondered whether he shouldn't pay a little visit to his old friend Rupert. But no, no more repaying of debts on that old score. Ripper would emerge, would duly threaten to kick his sorry arse, would probably proceed to do so and then have him thrown out if not thrown into Council holding cells.  
  
"Goodbye, my dear," he called silkily after her, "Don't forget to give my love to Ripper, won't you?" With one last smirk he was gone, vanishing in a purr of engine. Buffy watched as the car disappeared around the corner and shook her head thoughtfully for a moment before deciding to call a cab to take her home.  
  
"And how is Ethan?" a voice spoke up.  
  
"Aargh!" she screamed, whirling around and decking the person.  
  
Giles managed to duck, though not very gracefully, before taking a hasty step back.  
  
"God, Giles! Don't creep up on me like that; I could have taken your head off," Buffy scolded irritably. But the slight smile on his face told her as plain as words, he would enjoy calling her on that. "What do you want?"  
  
"I was looking out the window when I saw you so I came down," he explained, "Though I have to say I was shocked to find Ethan Rayne in the car with you."  
  
"We met at that bar of yours last night," Buffy said, pulling her jacket jerkily around herself.  
  
Giles looked confused and suddenly very much like his old self. "You met last night and he's driving you around London the next morning? I had no idea you two knew each other so well! And why is there grass in your hair?"  
  
"There is?" she gasped. Her eyes widened and her fingers frantically scrabbled through her mussed-up hair to rid it of all signs of unhappy nighttime activity. Not that that's what it had felt like, especially when he'd done that thing with his thumbs- no! Not thinking that!  
  
Giles finally had to stop her from simply tearing her hair out. A few well- placed tweaks and he meekly held out all of the three blades to her. What he was not prepared for was Buffy bursting into tears and throwing herself onto his chest. "Eh?" he commented in far from his typical erudition.  
  
"It's all going shit-faced," she sobbed.  
  
A well-groomed couple out for an early morning stroll looked interestedly at the little scene being played out, though the woman gave a sniff that said more than words how such shocking displays of feeling were only to be expected from older men in leather jackets and earrings and young dyed blonde girls with rumpled clothes.  
  
"Ah, I see," Giles remarked dryly, "Perhaps you have better come upstairs and tell me exactly what the problem is and why you feel it's, um, shit- faced, did you say? Well, then! Come along."  
  
The school-teacherish manner he had deliberately adopted seemed to bring somewhat of a smile to her face. He'd suspected as much the last time he'd let himself express his opinion without the usual stammer and stutter everyone had come to expect from him. But the fact that Buffy wasn't very sure of him was something he'd lived with for over two years now- since that lamentable day he'd turned Spike over to Wood; though he suspected it was closer to four after that terrible ordeal with coming back from the dead. His problem was that he'd also grown up since then.  
  
"Giles, if you're taking me upstairs to talk then maybe you should turn the volume on your voice box up," Buffy sniffled. "You're strangely quiet," she elaborated for good measure.  
  
"Yes, I do apologize," Giles smiled back, "Sit down. Would you like me to get you something to drink?"  
  
"I'm not in the mood for tea, thanks, Giles," Buffy said tearily.  
  
"You usually never are," he reminded her dryly, "I was thinking more along the lines of a soda. Or something stronger, if you'd prefer it."  
  
She looked up at him then, her expression arrested in that simple way she had when she forgot to finish what she was doing but simply ignored it to look at the intrusion. Giles sighed and settled in for what would be an abstract discussion- most likely involving some form of argument or resentment- and a degeneration into some mundane, messy, unintelligible analogy that he'd finally agree with simply to make peace. What she finally said threw him off-balance:  
  
"Don't you drink tea any more?"  
  
Giles blinked at sad gray eyes in puzzlement. "I do, Buffy. B- but it's hardly effective for me to offer it to you when I know you don't really like it. And since you seemed, well, upset, I- I- I *thought* you might appreciate something to calm you down."  
  
She nodded silently and looked at her hands. There was a scratch on the back of the right one, a scratch she knew very well all things considered. On her back on the grass, the feeling of completion as he'd thrust into her and Ethan's hand had slid into hers, fingers twining and clasping and grinding down into the earth and she had suddenly wanted more. Her hands twisted so that his fingers pinned her wrists down and in the process he had scratched her hard enough to draw blood.  
  
"Do you want to tell me why you burst into tears?" Giles asked gently, seeing emotions and hunger and regret in a disturbing array across her face.  
  
"Giles, maybe I need to not be here any more," Buffy said quietly, looking up. Giles twitched. Buffy sighed and explained herself.  
  
"I know that you wanted me to help you with the Watcher's Council. But you don't need me here! You have Willow and Xander and Faith and Wood and a heap of other people all around you who can do a much better job than I can. You even have Dawn and that first batch of Watchers-in-Training coming down here soon. Frankly, Giles, I don't want to be here. I like England and I like working with you but I feel like I'm heading nowhere. And don't argue with me because I forbid you to argue with me on anything I'm saying here whatsoever." She glared fiercely at him and Giles shut his mouth accordingly. "I'm staying here for a bit, as in I'm staying in London; but I won't be working here any more. More than that, I want you to promise me that you won't try and talk to me while I'm doing this."  
  
"**What?**"  
  
"Giles, listen!"  
  
"No, Buffy, *you* listen," Giles snapped, angry for nothing that he could really put a name to, "You can't expect me to sit here and just let you walk away without so much as an explanation. And no, before you start spouting more rubbish, I'm not talking about the job. The Council can go to hell for all I care! I'm talking about your friends and family and I'd prefer to know why you feel like abandoning us."  
  
"Because you told me why you were running out on me when I was suicidal in Sunnydale?" Buffy snarled, "Typical, Giles! This is just so typical! You're like this giant hypocrite who can't see the nose on his face for the tree in someone else's eye!"  
  
"And Ethan Rayne doesn't do that, I take it?" Giles asked blandly, green eyes darkening to the color of wet moss.  
  
"You see, this is what I'm talking about," she gasped, pointing to him, "You just don't get it any more. It's like everything you say is so damned different and it's scaring me to think that I'm trying to second-guess you every time I open my mouth!"  
  
The Watcher stared at her in shock. He knew she'd been having trouble accepting who and what he was, but this was worse than he'd thought. Having to second-guess him indeed! "Then perhaps you do need that break from us all if we've let ourselves become strange to you. Buffy, most of your problems come from an inability to see change until you're forced to confront it. And then you have to be dragged kicking and screaming to adapt to it. God knows it's painful, but only because none of us- Willow, Xander, Dawn or myself- want to see you have to go through that. Perhaps if you think about letting go a little."  
  
"No letting go," Buffy refuted instantly, "It's got nothing to do with letting go. And hasn't anyone stopped to realize that every time something changes, I'm usually the one cleaning up the mess?"  
  
Giles tightened his jaw for minute and then softened again. "We all clean up the mess, Buffy. Everything that's happened to you affects us too; it- it may be in a different way but that doesn't make it any less intense. And you forget you don't have to be the one cleaning up the mess this time."  
  
Buffy seriously considered just arguing her point with him but it was obvious he didn't want to see things from her perspective. And she couldn't blame him; she'd pushed him away just as much as he'd changed on her. They all had and now she was the one left feeling like an outsider again. Briefly she cringed as she wondered whether it was her fate to feel like that and fall head first into the arms of the first obviously wrong guy who came her way while her head was messed up. If anything, last night tended to remind her of her doomed affair with Spike. And that she didn't want!  
  
"I have to go home now," she muttered, "You take care of yourself. Tell Wills to email me with any major news, or you could write me. But yeah, I know, you're busy and stuff so no big deal; just- just let me know if there's something I can do, right? I- I'll see you around, Giles."  
  
And she'd left, just like that. She'd walked out the door of the Council Headquarters and gone home, shutting her own front door behind her very gently so as not to disturb whatever semblance of peace seemed to lurk in the muggy stillness of her rooms. But she wasn't surprised when she couldn't sleep in the heat of another night and went out for a walk and a look at the moon. And she was still less surprised to find Ethan pull up next to her in his sporty little car and push the door open in a silent invitation, cool air breezing out towards her. And she was certainly not surprised when she got in with a small smile and let her mask slip just that little bit. 


	3. Skeletons in the Closet

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long; I have computer access problems! Anyway, I'd like to thank David Bowie for writing such a completely gorgeous album as 'The Man Who Sold The World' and especially the song 'All The Madmen'. I just thought it touched so aptly on both these characters' lives. And the reference Buffy makes to 'another sanity' is of course from the episode where she has to choose between conflicting realities of 'Slayer' or 'Normal'. I can't remember the episode name, so I hope you know what I'm talking about. So tell me what you think, and feel free to make plot suggestions. ^_^  
  
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Ethan refused, on pain of self-loathing, to let Buffy see just how much this affected him. In the two weeks since he had become the only human she conversed with, he was starting to feel bits of himself drifting away. And he wasn't prepared for that, had never actively sought to let another living person so close. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he had more masks than she knew; he just hadn't expected her to start gently removing them all with her calloused little hands.  
  
"So we stand on your doorstep all night?" a feminine voice remarked behind him.  
  
Ethan started and shot a quick smile over his shoulder at Buffy before turning back to his front door. He slid the key into the lock and twisted. Taking a last deep breath, he checked the wards on his door and then opened it. "Can't have you freezing to death now, can we?" he chuckled.  
  
"I think you're keeping me warm enough," Buffy teased back, stepping inside. It never failed to surprise her that she was so relaxed in Ethan's company. "And this whole summer thing really isn't letting up either."  
  
"Unforgivable," Ethan declared expansively, switching on the lights as he ushered her into the living room.  
  
Buffy stared around in a fair amount of awe. She'd expected Ethan's place to be tacky and messy, with magic stuff strewn all over the place. And sure the décor was a bit unusual (the black leather sofa set was so terribly dated), but somehow everything fit. And the delicate smell of exotic incense were definitely coming from somewhere in the room. At the best of times, it made her sneeze; here it made her think of wildly exciting adventures about to happen.  
  
Ethan kept his back to her, nervously lighting the small incense burner he normally kept on a side table near the window. The creak of worn leather was enough for him to know that she had settled in. So he turned and leaned against the wall, watching as she wriggled into a comfortable position.  
  
Buffy sniffed at the little smile on his face. "You forgot to ask me to sit down," she reprimanded.  
  
"How terrible of me," the mystic murmured, "Lucky you could find a seat on your own then!"  
  
"Don't tease!"  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it. May I get you a glass of wine?"  
  
Buffy looked a little doubtful, but since alcohol was one of the staples of this peculiar relationship, she was willing to ingest a bit more and pray for her liver. "Okay." She wasn't doing a good job of sounding convincing but then wine wasn't something she was good with. And a comparison with Ethan's knowledge of it was vaguely embarrassing.  
  
"It's a nice place," she called out, getting up to walk around and touch things.  
  
"Why thank you, my dear," Ethan's voice drifted out from the kitchen, "Feel free not to break anything, will you?"  
  
She snorted and shook her head but refused to reply. The thick cream curtains kept the rest of the world out and she wondered suddenly if Ethan was ever relaxed with them open. The look on his face when he'd let *her* in wasn't anything less than manically panicked; what did he do for people he wasn't sleeping with. The answering machine on the table caught her attention after a while.  
  
"Ethan, you've got a message on your machine," she called.  
  
The mystic appeared- his sleeves rolled up for some inexplicable reason- with a worried look on his face. "I wasn't expecting any calls."  
  
"Maybe it's a friend?"  
  
He scoffed at her as if he found the very idea abhorrent let alone implausible. "No," Ethan decided, "Must be a client. And since I haven't made any agreements in a month, a message from a client is not a good sign. Excuse me, my dear; I'd best check it."  
  
He walked to the machine, absently rubbing one hand on his hip before hitting the button. Then he stilled and set his jaw as a well-known voice filtered into the room:  
  
"Ethan? Ripper here. Damn it, man, why are you never home when I call? Have you got that information I asked for? It's been three days and I'm starting to believe you're squelching on our deal. She's still out there and she's lost. She'd kill me if she even knew I was talking to you, but so help me God, if you don't call me as soon as you get this I will be there to ram that sodding statue of Janus down your throat!"  
  
The machine clicked off and allowed Ethan one minute to clear his throat before looking up at blue eyes blazing betrayal.  
  
"What was he talking about?" Buffy ground out.  
  
"Some information, that's all." Ethan took a step forward and tried to keep it neutral. Why *hadn't* he remembered about calling Ripper? It wasn't like it was so regular an occurrence that it didn't provoke surprise and interest. And it might have led to a substantial amount of new business for him. And of all the worst possible times to play it! Buffy would, of course, misinterpret it.  
  
"What information?" The voice was low, dangerous.  
  
"A demon leader loose on London town. She's approached the Council for help in waging war against a rival tribe and Ripper's trying to find a way to diffuse the mess without getting the Council caught up in a potential battle. Will that do?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Well then, what more do you want? Her name and address too?"  
  
"I want to know why you didn't tell me."  
  
"I didn't think it was any of your business."  
  
Buffy stared at him in incredulous wonder. Apparently either he was stupid or he thought she was. "You're in contact with Giles and you're sleeping with me and you don't think either of those two factors have any relation to each other? How dumb are you?"  
  
"All Ripper wants is some bloody information!" Ethan's nerves were one edge and this was not something he wanted to handle right now.  
  
"Ethan, can you honestly tell me that Giles hasn't asked about me even once?" Buffy snapped, "*Honestly*, Ethan, can you say no?"  
  
Ethan opened his mouth to lie and it would be so easy to do it. But she was staring at him with tears in her eyes and after all, why should he bother to lie about the little truths of life? "No. The man wanted to know if you were all right and I was hardly going to tell him to go fuck himself, was I?"  
  
Buffy stared searchingly at him. Ethan was quite capable of snitching on her to Giles and the rest. The point was- did it make any difference? So it seemed Giles knew they were sort of together, so what? He'd told her clear as daylight to back out of his life, and she had done the same. Ethan was providing some much needed stress release and if she had to sleep with the enemy to get that, she wasn't going to argue about it.  
  
"You'd better get that wine," she sighed, "I'm in no mood to fight about stupid things."  
  
Time ticked by, broken only when Buffy let out a squeal that brought Ethan at a run.  
  
"What? What?" he demanded, grabbing her hand and staring frantically over her to look for blood.  
  
"You have a record player," Buffy gurgled, nodding at it, "Does it work? My Gran used to have one like it when I was a girl. And she used to play all these moldy old records on it that I hated. Do you have any records? I thought these were ancient!"  
  
Ethan dropped her hand and sniffed in mocking chagrin. "Not that ancient," he grumbled defensively, "And for your information, yes; I do have records."  
  
Which meant that Buffy insisted on seeing them. Ethan stalled and tried to change the subject, even introducing wine as a convenient change of topic. It didn't work. Buffy merely swallowed half her glass in one go and demanded to be shown the records again. Ethan was beginning to wish fondly that he could simply toss her on the couch and shove a cushion over her mouth. And then he could think of other ways to stop her mouth and none of them were calculated to allow for dignified posture, so he caved in and led her to his collector's corner.  
  
Buffy trotted up the stairs, a little surprised at being taken to a completely different room, but the minute he opened the door and waved in her in, she knew just why his collection needed an entire room- it was huge! There were boxes everywhere filled with records, all neatly marked in categories or by artists' names; there were shelves of CDs and tapes lining an entire wall; and another cabinet opposite the door that was filled with books, videos and DVDs. Whatever little space was left on the walls was covered with posters. In short, the man had built a shrine to music and there was still hardly enough space for it all.  
  
"Wow," Buffy whispered, staring around with eyes as wide as saucers, "The place even smells like a record store."  
  
"Pardon?" Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"You know," she explained airily, "all dusty and cool."  
  
Ethan let it drop and watched silently as she walked in circles, flicking through boxes of all the collections he'd made over the years. He'd never thrown a record away, even when it got scratched or damaged. He'd kept them all no matter what.  
  
"Oh my God! You have Billy Idol?" Buffy squeaked, "He looks so like Spike!"  
  
Ethan shrugged. "I did hear from a close source that Billy Idol copied the look off an intriguing man he met in a pub one night who tried to pick him up."  
  
Buffy rolled her eyes and thought how like Spike that sounded. Except she hoped sex wasn't precisely what the vampire had had in mind; Spike didn't seem the bisexual type but then you never knew. Willow, after all, was bisexual, and she'd seemed straight as an arrow until Tara.  
  
"Glam Rock, huh? Alice Cooper... Lou Reed... Wayne County? Who's he?" Ethan peeped over her shoulder and pointed to the man with the blonde wig and the bright blue dress. Buffy gagged and put it away. "Cool," she said, "But I don't think that's my type."  
  
"And what is your type?" Ethan teased, leaning in to lick her neck, "Don't tell me you like Country music!"  
  
"No," Buffy protested, "No Country! Mom liked country, though. Do you- do you have the Bay City Rollers?" Something Giles had once said.  
  
And Ethan must have read her mind because he smirked and flipped delicately through one box before selecting a record she might enjoy. "I see Ripper's let out a few embarrassing secrets of his," he grinned, "The Rollers were not something he would have admitted to at all in the old days."  
  
"Why?" Buffy asked.  
  
"Some people thought they were a girly group," Ethan chuckled wickedly, "the Roller Girls, as their female followers were called, were famous for their tartan obsession and... well, just their obsessiveness. Mind you, not that we didn't know any men who liked the Bay City Rollers. And not that the Ziggy clones were much better."  
  
Buffy looked confused so he surmised that he must have gotten too detailed. Ah well, he decided wearily, in such a decade of bad music, what else was to be expected?  
  
"Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars?" he elaborated. Buffy continued to blink at him. "David Bowie in drag and make-up?" he tried. This time he hit home, light began to dawn on Buffy's face before being closely followed by a long drawn out "eew".  
  
"That's not something I think I want to see," she shuddered, "Geez, the guy's over fifty and I don't think I can imagine him in dresses and skirts."  
  
"*I'm* over fifty," Ethan pouted, not quite as mocking as he'd tried to be, "Besides which, I don't think he does so any more. He used to however; it was quite the statement to wear dresses and announce you were gay, especially if you fluttered your eyelashes and ponced around a lot. It took a lot of courage."  
  
"Again, so don't want to know," Buffy grimaced, "I don't even know why everyone thinks he's so great. I mean, it's not like he sings all that well."  
  
"Doesn't sing..." Ethan stared at her in horrified fascination, "My dear girl, what exactly have you heard him sing."  
  
"Well, Mom had this album called 'Young Americans'. It just sounded like really bad disco." Buffy got that closed off look she always wore when talking about her mother. Ethan surmised it was still a tender spot for her and wisely forbore to question her mother's musical tastes. 'Young Americans' indeed! If ever an album had failed to capture an artist's true genius it was that! 'Young Americans' was like Bowie's version of going through the motions- nice, but not overly stimulating. Maybe if he played her 'The Man Who Sold The World'... the need to just give up was something he had the feeling she would appreciate.  
  
Ethan suddenly got a closed off look of his own as he bent over a box devoted solely to Bowie and Marc Bolan and sifted through it until he found the record he was looking for. He handed it almost reluctantly to her- "To understand what made Bowie so great, or even what made the Seventies what they were, you have to listen to music like this. Bring this down with you and I'll play you 'All the Madmen'. It was before Ziggy and it certainly wasn't his most popular as far as commercial success went, but there's something so haunting in it that I think you'll relate."  
  
They went down in silence, Buffy examining the intriguing cover of what appeared to be a young girl in a pretty silk gown lounging on a recliner. A closer look revealed it to be a young Bowie in drag, something that made her rethink her original 'eew' to a more complimentary 'hmmm'.  
  
Ethan still didn't say anything as he put the record on. The first sounds were scratchy, but the rest was marvelously clear. And it was easy to see why! Ethan treated his records like something rare and precious, his fingers so light that Buffy could almost feel the gentle pressure on her skin. She knew the feel of those featherlight fingers intimately by now.  
  
The first song went by, sounding okay but a little kooky. Ethan listened to her comments attentively and then told her to shut up and wait until she heard the song he wanted her to hear. And then it started. And at first all it was, was some British guy with a reedy voice singing about being mad:  
  
"Day after day... They send my friends away... To mansions cold and gray... To the far side of town... Where the thin men stalk the streets... And the sane stay underground..."  
  
Then suddenly, the hypnotic voice flared as the music rose like a barrier around it, shielding it from the ridiculous with a fanfare of guitar and drum. Perhaps it really wasn't as dramatic as all that; perhaps Buffy's imagination was only getting the better of her. But the words were ringing in her head and making her face a reality that she didn't want to see- this man was mad and he accepted it; just like she had once given up another version of 'sanity' as 'normal Buffy' to come back and save the world as the 'The Slayer'. Ethan couldn't possibly have known that! And yet he had insisted on playing it for her:  
  
"Cause I'd rather stay here... With all the madmen... Than perish with the sadmen roaming free... And I'd rather play here... With all the madmen... For I'm quite content they're all as sane as me..."  
  
And then she understood. Ethan's eyes were half closed in drugged attention. He wasn't even aware of her he was so intent on the song. And she suddenly realized how many masks he was leaving behind to do this. This was *his* song! This was the song that let him rationalize the things he did.  
  
For once Buffy wasn't comparing what she was listening to with what she herself had heard; music had never been a big part of her life and she never really gave it much thought. But both Giles and Ethan as young boys must have found something so awe-inspiring in the music of their time to remember it twenty years later. And she didn't doubt that Giles prized his records and CDs as much as Ethan did. And the raw, aching passion for transcendence was so evident in every note pouring from the machine that she could almost see the lashing bonds coiling around the room.  
  
When it was done, Ethan opened his eyes and felt himself rejuvenated. He'd let himself slip in front of her; he'd taken too many of his masks off for comfort. The song had reminded him of what he had given his life to doing- always being that one insanely unpredictable step ahead of the pack. Dark eyes glimmered wickedly at Buffy.  
  
Buffy walked to Ethan, noted the challenge in his eyes and the teasing smile tugging at the corners of his wide mouth and let herself be pulled down onto the couch. After all, she didn't need him to explain everything to her. Some secrets she could figure out for herself, and maybe when the right time came she'd say something to Ethan about the skeletons she was finding in his closet. For now there were hands and tongues and silky soft oriental rugs under steaming skin. 


	4. Tangled Webs

Author's Note: Yes, I know this series is taking ages, but please do forgive me. My characters are changing so rapidly in my head that this angsty little chapter might seem to be a bit rushed and hurried. I'll have the next one up in a day or two.  
  
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When morning dawned, the Slayer opened her eyes, squinted at the ceiling and sighed inaudibly.  
  
Ethan wasn't with her and either the man was as quiet as a mouse, or else he just wasn't there. Which left Buffy to get off the bed, grab her jeans and a sweater Ethan has obviously left for her (they'd, um, 'spilt' things on her shirt) and get dressed.  
  
Ethan had left a note saying he'd had to meet Ripper. "Information owed," he'd excused.  
  
So Buffy spent the rest of the morning cleaning up and wondering if she should leave or wait for him. Last night had been as intense as usual. Ethan might not have the stamina of a young man, but the little tricks he knew were enough for her. And he was always careful. She had to smile at a comparison between *this* and her time with Spike.  
  
By rights, Buffy felt she should cringe every time she thought back to how she had hurt the vampire. And for the life of her she couldn't fathom why Ethan didn't fall into the same category. Perhaps she just didn't care enough to bother to hurt him? After all, she always had that connection to Spike, no matter whether he was good or evil. And then she slept with Ethan, enjoyed it and had a pleasant enough time joking around with him afterwards.  
  
Except when he disappeared on her before she woke up.  
  
It wasn't that she was horribly upset not to wake up with the Chaos mage; she promised herself she didn't care one way or another. But this was the fourth time in a week and it was beginning to get a little grating to her nerves.  
  
So she pottered around, examining the absurd little china ornaments that stood on the mantelpiece. She chuckled to herself as she picked up a delicate china lady holding down her hat while the wind blew her clothes astray; the garment had billowed too far up the back. Buffy shook her head and carefully turned the woman's bared china arse away from general viewing. Trust Ethan to have stuff like this!  
  
And then the doorbell rang.  
  
"Yes?" she asked politely, opening the door.  
  
The person on the front doorstep was, to say the least, aggressive. Buffy hurriedly stepped back into the house, conscious Ethan would have extensive wards on his property. The woman looked at her with a smile and a pair of viciously bared fangs. Slayer signals went off in Buffy's head and she was instantly intent on recalling anything close to hand that might serve as a weapon.  
  
The woman made a dart for the door but slammed into some kind of invisible barrier, throwing her away from the house like an uninvited vampire. Buffy got into fighting stance and watched carefully. Now was not the time to be wondering where her host was! She was the Slayer and she could damn well face this alone!  
  
"Who are you?" Buffy snapped, "What do you want?"  
  
"You," the woman growled irritably, "You think I'm trying to get the Wizard? You poor besotted fool!"  
  
"Hey!" Buffy was insulted, she really was. "I am not besotted! Ethan's just a friend!"  
  
The woman let out an audible sneer and made another run for the barrier, trying to rip through the fabric with her claws. But whatever the magic it was, it held firm. Buffy relaxed a little, rolling her shoulders to loosen up the knots. Slowly her fists lowered as she watched the woman's futile efforts to get to her.  
  
Seconds ticked by and people were beginning to stare, to wonder what was going on. A curious couple from across the street called across to ask if Buffy needed some help. The woman's red eyes glinted but Buffy's hands went up. This time, she managed to grab hold of a small knife she'd discovered in a fitting behind the door.  
  
"Try it and I'll drop you," the Slayer warned.  
  
The woman growled and backed away, her eyes fixed fearfully on the knife. She muttered something under her breath and Buffy's eyes widened as blue light danced across the doorframe, blinding both Slayer and demon as magic fought magic. Then demon woman left with one last venomous look.  
  
Buffy slumped and banged the door shut, ignoring the twitching curtain from across the way. She decided Ethan could deal with his own nosy neighbours, thank you very much! Herself, she was getting out of here to the safety of her own home.  
  
"It's not fair," she snarled, striding through the rooms even though she didn't quite know what she was looking for, "It's not fucking fair! All I wanted was some peace and quiet. Is that too damn much to ask? Just some peace and quiet! I just need to think and I *don't* need some dumb demon to try and kill me again! Where's Ethan? Wait till I get my hands on him, I-I- I'll..."  
  
Here she stopped, standing stock still in his music room with a woebegone pout. A poster of someone stared innocently back at her with a laugh in their gray eyes.  
  
How long she stayed there she couldn't remember. It might have been minutes; it might have been years. All she knew was that Ethan found her there, sitting on the floor and staring at the worn carpet.  
  
"Buffy! Slayer, what's wrong?" He dropped instantly to his knees beside her, brushing the untidy hair off her flushed face with a soothing hand. Ethan's heart managed to turn over in his chest as he saw her flinch.  
  
"Who am I?" the woman whispered sadly. Gray eyes looked up to dark ones with a desperate plea in every blue-green fleck.  
  
Ethan opened his mouth to say he didn't understand. Then something inside his mind- the chaotic mental pattern that helped him get to the heart of a swirl of unnecessary elements- told him that he could give her an answer to that question. The man himself didn't think she was ready for that answer so he shut his mouth and put his arm awkwardly around her thin shoulders. "Tell me what's wrong, luv."  
  
Shades of Spike and traces of Giles and was that who this man was to her? Some kind of psuedo-carer she could sleep with so that the nights weren't lonely? Buffy looked up to a worn, craggy face that looked down with a rather unusual amount of compassion at her.  
  
She struggled out from under his arm and cleared her throat. "You had a visitor, Ethan. Or rather, I did, but she came here. Said she was looking for me and that she wanted to kill me."  
  
Ethan didn't see the point. Many, including himself, had said that to her times out of mind in the past. Well, granted he'd never *said* he wanted to kill her! He was usually too busy dodging both her fists and Ripper's fists to get a word in edgewise. But again, his Chaos self sensed the direction without needing words, drawing different aspects together to find her true meaning. Not that he'd ever be able to express it. Sensing it was completely different to thinking it out in actual words and letters.  
  
Oblivious to this mental turmoil, Buffy continued. "She looked human when I opened the door but then she smiled. She had fangs. But so not a vamp cause she was out in daylight. Your wards or what-have-yous kept her from getting to me. She did threaten your neighbours, though, so you might want to check up on them."  
  
"My neighbours are of no concern to me," Ethan said dismissively, "Are *you* all right?"  
  
Buffy waved an airy hand. "I told you, your magic barriers kept her out of the house. I'm fine."  
  
Ethan reached out with his right hand, raising Buffy's face to his gaze with the softest of touches and repeated his question. "Are you sure? No masks, Buffy. You can tell me the truth."  
  
The Slayer blinked at the unexpected gentleness. It wasn't that Ethan was concerned- he'd shown that often enough every time he touched her- it was that Ethan Rayne of all people wanted to know if she was truly okay. Should she tell him that she didn't really know what the truth was? No, better leave philosophical discussions for another time.  
  
"I'll be okay, thanks," she sighed. Unexpected flicker of doubt and then he dropped his hand to listen. "It's just been so long, you know, since I had to fight anything; since I was 'The Slayer'! And I thought that the evil people would think I was retired and leave me alone. Stupid, huh?"  
  
Ethan chuckled. "I'd say so, yes," he teased mischievously, taking the little poke in the arm that a small finger awarded him, "Now could we get off this floor? My knees are starting to lock into position and I'm afraid that tends to be ever so slightly painful."  
  
Buffy bounded lightly to her feet with a grin and gave him her hand to help him up. She rolled her eyes as he made a great show of stretching and left the room first, chattering about getting him the tea that every good Englishman craved. Ethan didn't have to heart to tell her that he didn't really drink tea. That, and he waited a minute until the joint in his left knee really did stop hurting, rubbing it for a minute with a grimace on his face.  
  
The grimace had nothing to do with the physical pain in his knee, and everything to do with the emotional pain of getting old. 


	5. Seasons' Change

Buffy had thought about this for a long time. In fact, she'd not only thought about it, she'd talked and debated and dreamt about it too! She still had no other conclusion to draw.  
  
The phone sat innocently on her table, staring her in the face with an enquiring look. Buffy could either sit there and go through another week of nerve-wracking indecisiveness or she could pick up the phone and tell him what she had decided. She grit her teeth and picked it up:  
  
"Hey, Giles? It's Buffy here. Yeah, something's kind of come up..."  
  
And she told him everything. Well, not everything, because she didn't think she wanted to tell him about Ethan or what she was doing with him. Buffy wasn't all that sure what she was doing with Ethan either. What Buffy did tell him, was about the warrior demon princess who showed up at Ethan's door and tried to kill her. Buffy told him about how Ethan's wards kept her safe for that one time but that she'd been getting the feeling of being followed. Most of all, she told him that she was ready to come back to the Council.  
  
On the other end of the phone, Giles blinked in astonishment at this sudden announcement and decided the phone was no place to be having this conversation. "Buffy, are you certain? Perhaps we should have this conversation tomorrow."  
  
"Not tomorrow, Giles." Buffy's voice was tinny but insistent. "I've made my choice. I want to come back."  
  
"Well, I'm not so sure, Buffy," Giles cautioned. He couldn't have described his gut feeling for love or money but something was telling him Buffy was lying, telling him what she thought he wanted to hear.  
  
"Giles!" Apparently her lies didn't extend to her usual irritation with him. "Don't be so- so... look, if you don't believe me we'll have this stupid conversation. You free for lunch today?"  
  
"Uh, yes?"  
  
"Good! Pick me up at my place and we'll go out for lunch and I'll tell you all about my life- changing experiences on a spiritual thingie in China!"  
  
"You went for a..."  
  
"No, of course I didn't!" Buffy couldn't resist the smile as Giles' obvious astonishment floated over the line, "You English! You really have no sense of humour!"  
  
"Indeed," Giles said dryly, "Very well, then. I'll pick you up and we'll go out for lunch. Buffy, I do want you back but until you're ready..."  
  
Buffy's face softened. Giles or Ripper- whoever the man chose to be, he was still her Watcher. And maybe now she could handle that. "I am ready, Giles. You'll see."  
  
The rest of the morning was spent going over the few bits of information she'd managed to glean from an old informant she'd caught up with last night. If he hadn't been undead, the poor vampire might have had a heart attack on the spot at the sight of her. It was only when she'd questioned him (thoroughly and painfully) about this warrior princess that seemed to be fixated with her that she'd learned that Elena's dealings with the Council had fallen through.  
  
The leader of the tribe, the demon had decided the best candidate to serve as a warning to the Council was the Senior Slayer, the pride and joy of not just the Watcher's Council but the Head of the Council himself. As Buffy put it, "Great! I'm being killed 'cause I'm Giles' Slayer? This sucks!"  
  
Giles appreciated the irony when she repeated her grumble to him. He did not, however, appreciate one of Elena's personal bodyguards following close behind her. While Buffy only shrugged and said she'd get rid of him when she could, that fact, coupled with the conflict in her gray eyes told Giles one thing and one thing only- leaving Buffy alone was not the best thing. So he welcomed her back with open arms and blandly shut his eyes to everything else.  
  
Getting home, of course, Buffy kept her promise and ducked into a conveniently deserted store. Her shadow followed her to the door, peeped in and found himself pulled in with an iron hand while an equally strong fist took the wind out of his lungs with a well-placed blow to the ribs.  
  
"Where's Elena?"  
  
He shook his head and tightened his jaw.  
  
Buffy shot a quick look over at the sale's girl's back and dragged him behind a rack of frilly skirts. "You want me to ask you again? Where's your leader? Oh God, did you just make me ask you to take me to your leader? Oh, I'm so killing you for that! But if you tell me, I'll think about it."  
  
Again, the demon shook his head, stubbornly holding her gaze with fearless eyes.  
  
Buffy sighed, uncomfortable with killing anything without a fight. So she sized him up, formed a plan and turned her back to leave. True to form, the silly git sprang at her back; she spun back, grabbed him and snapped his neck. Then she went home, only to find another battle awaiting her.  
  
"What did he want?" Ethan asked quietly.  
  
Buffy started and stared at this apparition in her living room. She looked around. Nope, it really was her living room. She hadn't walked into Ethan's place by mistake.  
  
"Magic opens doors a lot more efficiently than keys," the mystic smiled. Then the smile faded. "Ripper called and you went running, didn't you? What's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing," Buffy said evasively. She didn't know why she suspected he would react badly, but she did. And until she knew how to explain the things she needed him to understand, she didn't want to have this conversation.  
  
But Ethan was having none of that. He had her slammed against the wall, hard fingers pinning her shoulders in place with a lethal enough strength. Being the Slayer, Buffy wasn't in the least bothered; she could break his neck if she so wanted. The fact that he didn't appear to care about that was still somewhat of a novelty. "You left in the middle of the night," he growled, "Without so much as a word of explanation."  
  
"The Council is planning a raid on Elena's safe-house tonight. Giles wanted to know if I could join them on this. The only other available Slayer is pretty inexperienced and he'd rather not put this on her. Now let me go."  
  
Ethan smirked, the expression cold and cruel. "And if I don't? I thought you like being restrained. You certainly seem to enjoy it in bed."  
  
Buffy tossed him away from her as easily as any other human. She made sure to be gentle, not up to calling an ambulance because she'd broken his back or something.  
  
Ethan's response- he chuckled quietly and got back to his feet. "I forgot," he said simply, "You are the Slayer. Have fun, my dear; give Ripper a kiss from me."  
  
And with that, he stalked out of the house into the gray morning. Buffy wrapped her arms around herself and glowered in peace. So she liked Ethan, so what! That didn't give him the right to tell her what to do. This had been getting worse for the last month and the Slayer was seriously having flashbacks to similar times with Spike. Except Ethan hadn't professed to love her. In fact, she wasn't sure if he even liked her at all.  
  
But enough thinking! Buffy had her first fight in months to prepare for and it didn't sound like it would be a walk in the park. She relaxed her tensed muscles and walked to her weapons chest.  
  
Running her fingers over it, she was dimly aware of a surge of power. The chest represented so much to her- family and strength and endurance and destiny. And again she was getting the longing to feel a stake in her hand, to know she was making an actual difference in the world. The chest opened and for the first time in six months she pulled out a sword and got to work. 


	6. Hope Cometh in the Morning

Author's Note: Sorry it has taken me forever to get this chapter up. And please be patient with me as it might continue to go a little slow. The point is, inspiration dried and I've been fighting with this fic forever to get it started again. Hope it's not too late for you guys and I'll try and get the next one by the end of next week.

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Rupert Giles wasn't exactly getting much sleep. Which was fine in normal circumstances, but when the reason he couldn't go to bed was because Buffy had just left at ten at night only to be followed by a seemingly very drunk Ethan turning up on his doorstep, he was convinced it was Just Too Much.  
  
"Ethan, couldn't you just go to bed?" he begged, "I'm tired and so should you be. You've had enough to drink."  
  
"No I 'aven't," Ethan slurred defiantly, clutching his glass as if Ripper had just threatened to wrest it away. "Whe' I've had enough I'll say so! None of your bleedin' business 'nyway."  
  
Giles stifled a sigh. "You're right. So why are you here?"  
  
Ethan looked around in confusion as if trying to determine where 'here' was. Evidently it was Ripper's house. He didn't need to be invited here, surely? Unless it wasn't Ripper's house; in which case he wasn't sure where he was.  
  
"Ethan?" Giles leant forward and shook his shoulder. "Bloody hell, man, pass out respectably if you've had all that much."  
  
"M not drunk," Ethan insisted, "Wan' some?" He held out the bottle, half pouring the rest of its contents over Giles' carpet.  
  
Giles caught it before it crashed to the floor. "Ethan! That's it- get out! I don't want to know anything; I just want you gone. G-O-N-E! Gone!"  
  
Ethan shed an affecting tear. "So does she," he mumbled, grabbing his bottle back and draining the entire thing in one long swallow. He barely noticed the harsh rasp of alcohol washing down his raw throat and settling in his empty stomach. He was barely even aware of the bottle in his fingers. All he remembered was the distaste on her face when she'd pushed him away.  
  
"I don't get it, Ethan. Who's she?" Giles was getting frustrated now. He was tired, damn it! He wanted to go to bed. "Buffy?"  
  
"Who the hell else, Ripper? Sodding dames are all the same; chew you up and then spit you out," Ethan elaborated bitterly, "I did everything for her. I helped her, talked to her, fucked her... whatever she wanted I did. And for what? So she could go back to her darling Watcher! Ye Gods, if you ever wanted to see my fingers burnt, today's your lucky night, my friend. Enjoy it! Got any booze?"  
  
Giles was so taken aback he simply pointed Ethan to his alcohol cabinet and watched his best scotch get raided. Ethan wasn't drunk enough for this, was he? But Ethan was fairly straight on his feet; his hands steady enough in spite of how sozzled he seemed to be. Then again... "Pour us one," the Watcher sighed, "You have some explaining to do."  
  
The next morning, it seemed that Giles was right to distrust himself where Ethan was. He was tired, hung-over and more than uncomfortably aware of what his Slayer meant to his old friend.  
  
So Ethan had fallen in love... again... and this time the girl not only did not trust him, but was patently uninterested in a proper relationship with him. Giles held his head in his hands and cursed the Gods that made him such a soft touch with these things; Ethan was hurting and no matter how many times Giles beat him up, the Watcher cared about that.  
  
So a little thought began to take hold. Buffy's face as he'd mentioned Ethan's name swam into focus. And he made a decision:  
  
"Glad to see you awake," Giles commented dryly, smiling in not a little amusement to see Ethan's bloodshot eyes glaring at him from under the piled blankets on the couch.  
  
"Get out and get lost," the scratchy voice commanded, "Leave me to my death!"  
  
Giles chuckled quietly and handed over the glass of oily-looking stuff that he kept for just such occasions. It wasn't that he got drunk very much any more. In fact, he hadn't had the time for decent booze until Ethan turned up on his doorstep. He was quite proud, actually.  
  
Ethan drank down the disgustingly viscous liquid as if he were a dying man in a desert. He was essentially unconcerned that he was sitting naked on his old friend's couch with nothing but a sheet for modesty. Once he'd downed half the glass, his taste buds woke up and protested such mistreatment.  
  
"Ripper, you dolt, put honey in it next time," he snarked, staring at the remaining potion as if it were threatening to bite him, "Christ, but you never did learn!"  
  
Giles sighed. "I'll give it to you this once for the effort. Now, you won't be back up to your typical erudition until you finish that glass. Then you can call the curses of Janus down on my arse all you like."  
  
"Yes, mum."  
  
"Enough, Ethan," Giles warned, "Or I'll spank you."  
  
Ethan chuckled his 'medicine' in good grace and with a grimace. It still didn't taste right, having a sickly sweet aftertaste that he didn't remember from the last time he'd drunk this. Though, that said, it had been quite a while since he'd even tasted whiskey in Ripper's presence let alone tasted the weird concoctions for hang-overs that Ripper swore by... and why were his fingers aching?  
  
Giles kept a very impassive face as his old friend stared at his trembling hands. He said nothing as the man gave a strangled groan and clutched at his stomach.  
  
"R-Ripper! What the hell..."  
  
"Don't fight it, Ethan," the Head of the Watcher's Council advised, "Just let it happen and it won't hurt so much."  
  
"You bastard," Ethan yelped, feeling his bones twist and his skin ripple so hard he feared was rending apart.  
  
Giles left him then, escaping to the kitchen to get away from the sheer terror of what he was doing. He stood with bare feet on the cold tile and took deep breaths, counting each time he exhaled as he blocked his ears against the groans that began to escalate to screams.  
  
And then- then there was silence.  
  
And nothing disturbed the peace but some damned bird that insisted on squawking in his backyard. Giles pinched the bridge of his nose as he stopped himself from tossing a fire spell at the thing in his irritation. But eventually he forced himself to enter the living room and take a look at his handiwork.  
  
"Oh dear," slipped out, "Whatever will Buffy say!"  
  
Dark eyes glared furiously at him as Ethan pushed himself awkwardly off the floor. "You bastard," the chaos mage repeated feelingly, "What the hell was that for!"  
  
In answer, Giles felt himself start to smile. Ethan frowned as the other male began to laugh. And finally decided the man was mad when he fell into a chair and into hysterics. Giles finally sobered up enough to grab Ethan's shoulder hard and pull him up to his bedroom. Ethan baulked at first, feeling not a little suspicious of this insanely unpredictable version of his old mate. After a brief tussle on the stairs, he decided to trust him.  
  
Giles dragged him to the bathroom, where the original owner of this Council Safe House had installed a full-length mirror. Not saying a word, he shoved Ethan in front of it and presented the man to his new reflection with a flourish.  
  
But here was no demon, or ghost or ghoul. Instead Ethan was... young!  
  
"Welcome to your rebirth," Giles smirked softly, "I trust you and Buffy now have something a little more in common?"  
  
Ethan could only stare, his eyes wide and innocent as they had first been. Reaching out to touch the mirror, he realized that his hands were no longer scarred and veined, but slender and beautiful as they had once been. He skin was soft and nothing sagged. Indeed, he was now nothing but skin and bones- just as he had once been when sequins were in fashion and he had loved the feel of chiffon against his skin. Chiffon... like that scarf Buffy let him use to tie her hands sometimes.  
  
"But why?" he demanded, impatiently pushing his over-long curls out of his eyes and turning to Ripper.  
  
Giles continued leaning against the doorframe and shrugged. "You said you loved her," he answered baldly, "Buffy's made some bad choices in her life; you might just be the worst. But the most realistic in my opinion, so I'm giving you the chance to try properly. However," he raised a warning finger as Ethan opened his mouth to interrupt, "It is a temporary spell. I will reinforce it only, and I mean this in every way, you and my Slayer ask me to do it. You make her happy; I'll make you younger."  
  
Ethan shut his mouth and turned back to the mirror. Slowly he smoothed a hand over his arm and shoulder and chest, revelling in the return to another time when the world had been young and full of promise. Oh, but he had lived at one time! Not existed as the dried-up old wizard Buffy had seen him as. He grinned as he thought of exactly how he would prove it to her.  
  
"Deal, mate," he giggled, "Get me some decent clothes and I'll go see to that girl of mine."


	7. Cold November Rain

Author's Note: Looks like this is taking an entire year to write! Sorry for the delay, to those reviewers who forgive me and come back to this fic. To anyone else, welcome aboard!

---------------------------------------------

It was three in the morning and Ethan was still standing outside, leaning against the steel railings of someone else's house across the street and smoking like a chimney. The old couple that lived in the house he was currently guarding had given him strange looks. But when he cheerfully replied with a two-fingered salute, they said nothing and hurried inside.

Leaving him on the wrong side of the door on a cold autumn's night.

And he was still standing there.

Kicking absently at a used cigarette butt, Ethan puffed contentedly on the one in his mouth and examined his hands. Youth spells like this were not his style. He'd simply never have done something like this on his own- one, because chaos would not have allowed it, and two, because he did have certain scruples about certain things. And psychotic scientists hadn't given him much of a love for playing around with his own state of being.

Two days later he was back, still smoking like a chimney and still unable to knock at that door. But his clothes were different. No more sensible shirts and trousers. Now he wore jeans. And for the first time in many years, they looked good on him! He'd always thought he'd been born to wear jeans but once he'd grown up, he'd found he worked much better without them hindering his dashing run away from all things Eyghon related.

He coughed slightly with the smoke and the cold, adjusting the collar of his heavy overcoat to wrap more securely around his neck. The dark hair was pulled back behind his ears, still curly and still long. But he planned to get it trimmed at any rate.

And there she was.

Walking briskly out of her house with a large bag in her little hand and a blankly pleasant look on her face. He knew that look. So it was back to slaying then, was it?

He chucked the cigarette and watched her with hooded dark eyes, hiding the glitter of the chaos ritual he'd just completed by flicking his eyelids down when she looked at him. He had no illusions that she would recognize him. People like Buffy didn't work like that. She had tunnel vision; he'd deplored it before, he deplored it now. It meant that he would no more hold her eye as a young man than he could hold her heart as an old one.

He followed her.

Buffy, for her part, was unaware of the slight presence following her down the street. She had seen him, naturally- a slayer didn't get to live to her age without learning a few protective habits- but he was a thin young man who couldn't possibly say boo to a goose. So she wiped him from her mind and focused on other things.

Things, she'd be the first to admit, that she didn't really relish.

"It's nice to have you back," Giles had said. That had been comforting. The first time back into the business and it was nice to be with her Watcher again.

She'd tossed him a quick smile, reassuring him without words that she enjoyed it just as much. Well, maybe a little less. After all, she'd learned that demons never really disappeared no matter how much she wanted to take a holiday. So the best thing was get on with it and shove the issues in a locked box.

She had looked up only to note a small, amused little smile playing around Giles' mouth, the kind of smile that made her blush and stammer that she really wasn't doing anything, honest!

And then had come the million dollar question- "So how's Ethan?"

How was Ethan... "Oh, Ethan? He's okay, I guess. Why?"

"I just wondered."

Buffy's eyes had narrowed. She knew for a fact that Giles never 'just wondered'; he always had an agenda. But the conversation had ended when the others returned to the room, talking and laughing as if they had been planning a picnic and not a showdown with an apocalypse-obsessed demon warrior princess.

It had been nice- being with her family again- and she had happily pushed away the surprise at how callous they had all become. People were no doubt going to die, and yet they cracked jokes as if there was nothing more important to do than go out for a drink and a quick shag?

Now, standing outside Elena' safehouse, she mentally banged herself over the head for using such words- 'quick shag' indeed! Ethan had rubbed off more than she liked to think! Well, rubbed off, rubbed in... rubbed, in a general term, and very definitely not always the right way.

She refrained from kicking moodily at a can and wished she'd had that talk with Giles after all. How was Ethan? Giles obviously knew something she didn't. Was he okay? Was he still mad? Did he still have that stupid way of smirking at people? Made her want to scream, it did. That wide mouth was so- so... her brain supplied pretty, but she personally preferred irritating.

"Hey, B, you ready?"

Faith's voice. And that was the great thing about this assignment. The Council was seething because Elena had gone off and had her demon guys kill six young slayers in cold blood. The youngest had been tortured first. So top priority for the fledgling council was to kill the evil bitch and have done with it. So she was fighting with Faith, Willow and Kennedy again.

"Yeah." Hey, now seemed as good a time as any!

Willow nodded at Faith's signal and stepped out of the cover. Kennedy kissed her girlfriend swiftly and hard and then the witch threw up a shield of light around the both of them as Kennedy kicked the door down.

The fight was on.

It was bloody, brutal and one of the younger Slayers fell with an arrow to the throat as she blocked it on its way to Willow. The witch was casting protection spells as best she could while Kennedy played protector.

Faith and Buffy took opposite sides of the room but seemed to fight in tandem, long-forgotten habits from Sunnydale resurfacing in the most surprising way.

And then Elena launched herself at Faith and kept her busy while Buffy desperately tried to take on the rest of the warrior leader's bodyguard. Ducking, weaving and slashing like a frenzy; the demons so uncannily like human men and women fell either dead or maimed in her corner.

Faith was finding it a little hard to keep up the furious pace set by her opponent. Which was only to be expected. This particular breed were faster even than Slayers, with much the same level of strength and instinct. It didn't make Elena the better swordsperson; it just gave her a kick-ass advantage. The dark Slayer saw an opening and went for it, her axe no more than a blur rushing towards Elena's right shoulder. The warrior's face contorted as she threw herself to the side, escaping with no more than a nick on the arm.

But the fighting axe was lodged in a table and Faith lost her footing, sending her off-balance and to the floor. Instinct drove her rolling out of distance but she was unarmed. Buffy's heart stopped and then Willow came through, the bright bluelight enveloping the fallen Slayer before Elena could touch her.

Yet, Elena only glanced down at Faith before turning to Buffy with a smile. Giles had already wared her that the breed usually communicated telepathically, and as the others were dead or injured, the room was eerily silent. None of the Slayers dared make a sound for fear of the neighbours on either side.

Buffy gulped. Perhaps she should have done some training before this; she hadn't done any fighting for a while now. And she really should have had that conversation.

"B, watch out!"

Her sword flashed up in reflex and deflected the blow tossed by the warrior leader. The two sized each other up again and then Buffy moved, throwing swings and thrusts that at least put her opponent on the defensive even if they didn't touch her.

Willow watched with bated breath. She was tired, over-extended and not too certain that she could maintain a defence shield for a mouse for too long, let alone a girl. The witch dredged up more energy and took inner stock. She'd protect her friend if it killed her!

Only Faith noticed the arrival of the figure that slipped unannounced into the front door. Even with the youthful face and the strange but trendy ensemble of clothes, she knew what the guy spelled. Her magical senses were astonishingly better tuned that Buffy, due to her very brief stint with Wolfram and Hart. Her jaw tightened and while she might have been ready to give this guy the benefit of the doubt, the amount of power he was giving off wasn't healthy. And then she watched the way he was standing.

Ethan seemed to be slouching indifferently, but that was only for those who didn't know the way he moved. The flash of power drove his eyes to the right for a moment and he nodded at Willow, both acknowledging lethal power in the other.

Buffy was suddenly aware of a familiar presence at the back. She ducked under a loping swing that threatened to give her a rather severe haircut but managed not to, and glanced swiftly over Elena's left shoulder before refocusing. She knew better than to wonder at that odd appearance, but the momentary burst of shock was enough.

Elena saw her chance and took it, the sloppily executed defensive sending Buffy's sword clattering under a piece of smashed furniture. Both Kennedy and Faith moved forward.

Ethan's hand was up instantly, fingers loosely flicking towards Elena. His lips moved noiselessly and then the sword began to fight its wielder!

"Holy shit," Faith gasped, not sure whether to laugh or stare. She settled for both.

Buffy stopped and stared as the demon tried to keep a hold of the hilt and stay out of the way of the blade. The besieged warrior princess jumped over the blade, snapping her arm as her body tried to move two conflicting ways.

Only two people heard the telepathic scream. Willow flinched and Ethan smiled coldly. Then the sword buried itself in Elena's heart and she melted, dying just like all the rest of her warriors.

Buffy opened her mouth, still staring at Ethan. At a young Ethan! She didn't need to be told that this was Ethan. She might not have recognized him across the street, but standing in front of her with power crackling from his fingertips and his eyes sparking with wild delight... there could not be any other person.

"Er," she said, "Thanks?"

Only Ethan! Who else would have thought of such a sweetly imaginative and chaotic way to kill someone?

Faith stepped up, standing by Buffy's left shoulder. "You'd be that Ethan Rayne, right?" she prodded.

Ethan gave a graceful mock bow, extravagantly fluttering his slender hands as glimmering dark eyes laughed silently. The witch was staring at him, he knew that; probably keeping an eye out for any patented Ethan/ chaos tricks. Well, she never needed to worry. He had worked out his debt. He was ready to leave now.

"Rude much?" Kennedy snapped, "At least give us a name."

Ethan favoured her with an insolent once-over and a summary dismissal. "If you don't know, you haven't played my league before. Now, if you could do me the honour of not dying after everything I've worked so hard to do, a team of Florence Nightingales should arrive any minute."

Kennedy snorted. "Excuse me, we did all the work," she corrected, "You just happened to help."

Ethan raised an eyebrow- "Grateful little brat, aren't you?"- before turning to Buffy and ignoring the rest. "Ripper and the rest will be here in a minute, Slayer. I trust you can wait here that long."

"You're young," she blurted out.

A small half-smile as he nodded. "For the moment. By this time in four days, I might not be."

She put out a hand to touch and he took a step back, almost shying away like a nervous colt, like a stallion not quite broken in yet. Buffy dropped her hand, disgusted at herself for her reactions. So what if the man standing before her was young and pretty? She didn't like pretty boys. Hell, Angel and Spike were proof enough, they were not... she decided to kill herself as she remembered how 'pretty' both had been when she'd fallen for them.

Ethan seemed to realize that look in her eyes because he left, ignoring Faith's position behind him. He headed out in the night, the sound of cars and a medical ambulance grating through his sensitive hearing.

Like a cat he slunk away into the shadows.

"November," he muttered to the guy behind the bar, watching the rain cascade down from his seat beside a pint of bitter, "No bloody wonder Guns n' Roses wrote 'Cold November Rain'. It's sodding freezing where I am."


	8. The Ides of March

Author's Note: Sorry for the looooooong delay. The problem is I put this on hold and just never got around to finishing it. I am sorry. But for those few of those who might still be interested, there is only one last chapter left.

-

"Open the door!"

"No."

Buffy stared at the door with some annoyance and considered kicking it down. But there were wards on it, weren't there? Yes, she remembered something along those lines. And Ethan had proved that he wasn't someone to get into a fight with, not unless you wanted to die an imaginative death.

"Ethan, I'm cold," she protested, "And it's starting to rain." A drop hit her right on the nose and she glared at it for a minute before brushing it away. "Please?"

"Slayer, I'm sure you can find your way home before the rain starts. I'd hate for you to be stuck there."

"Aargh!"

Without realizing it, she found her hands tugging at her hair, ready to pull it out in a fit of frustration. With the greatest difficulty she stopped herself. There was no use ruining her hair for one silly man who couldn't get it through his head that she needed to talk to him immediately. "Ethan!"

"Buffy," came the reply. And it effectively stopped her tirade. Ethan Rayne rarely called her by name in that tired, honest tone of voice. "Buffy, you really are being ridiculous."

Buffy slowly unclenched her fists and placed a hand on the door. The wood didn't bite her. It didn't encourage her to open it either. So she tried to think of how best to phrase things, just so Ethan would listen. Why it felt important she didn't know; but important it seemed to be. "Look, strange as it seems…" she began.

"…there's been a round of crazy dreams," he interrupted sarcastically, "Are we done quoting Andrew Lloyd Webber lyrics at each other?"

"Who?"

"Never mind. Suffice it to say, I am not opening the door to you."

"Ethan, I could break it down."

"I suggest you do not try."

The rain was just starting to fall. A couple paraded down the street, cooing and giggling at each other with their arms and fingers tangled together. Buffy glared at them for good measure too. It was really too much that everyone else had an uncomplicated life while she was the oldest Slayer in the world, standing outside the door of her fifty-year-old lover and trying to get him to let her in out of the cold. It was simply not fair!

"Ethan, please?"

"Go home, Slayer."

There! He was back to calling her 'Slayer' again.

The girl Buffy was glaring at slipped a little and the guy pulled her straight, almost falling over himself as she threatened to drag him down. They both burst out laughing, the sound sending a very bitter ache through the audience they unknowingly had.

Buffy opened her mouth- to say what? She didn't know. She didn't even know why she was where she was. All she knew was that she owed Ethan some gratitude for saving her life. It still surprised her when that happened; she was so used to it being the other way around. And by Ethan Rayne- the chaos mage who had frustrated the hell out of her in Sunnydale! Why in all that was healthy would she be standing on his doorstep anxious to see him?

"I haven't done that in a while," she said instead.

The door opened.

And there was no younger Ethan. She hadn't thought there would be but…

A dark eyebrow rose and Ethan just looked enquiringly at her. "Done what?" he clarified.

She nodded wordlessly to the couple, flushing a little as the girl noticed their look and waved cheekily at them.

Ethan just smiled and waved right back. "Nice little thing," he commented, "Do we know them?"

"No. At least I don't." She scuffed her boots at the pavements, feeling all of six years old under his patient gaze. "Look, we really do need to talk."

The mage considered that. There was talking and there was talking; he wasn't ready for one and wasn't in the mood for the other. But this was Buffy. And yes, they did need to talk. He stepped out and shut the door behind himself. And continued to look at her. He knew it freaked her out. He was counting on it. Better she be uncertain than him.

"Ethan, about that night…"

"Which one? I remember many nights." He could have bitten his tongue out for that.

"Um, the one where you saved my life." Buffy wasn't thinking about the rest; she really wasn't. "I wanted to thank you. And, uh, just ask you how you turned yourself younger."

"A spell, Slayer. Have you ever heard of them? It involves magic, you see." He was babbling. So Ethan adopted another mask. He used his easiest smile on her, settling into a boneless heap of somehow upright body on the step. "You really should try it, Slayer. It gets rid of those little frown lines so quickly."

"I don't have frown lines," she snapped, frowning at him.

He laughed softly and glittered at her. "Ah, then it must just be the face you show me."

That was a stupid thing to say. He knew it. So did she from the look on her face. That small, mobile little face was even now registering awkwardness and determination and something that told him a momentous decision was on the verge of being made.

"I've shown you all my faces," Buffy said quietly.

Ethan looked up, got a raindrop in the eye and thanked Janus for it. "It's raining," he sighed, "Perhaps we could continue this discussion on another day."

"No."

"How do you plan to stop me?"

Buffy looked at her hands and took careful note of the scar on the third finger of her right hand. It was an ugly line around the base. "I am the Slayer," she pointed out ironically, "Want to bet I can hold you down while I talk in your ear?"

"Slayer, it is raining," Ethan smirked in return.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The Chaos mage sighed theatrically and cupped his hands to catch a few drops in his palms. "As far as chaos magic goes, one of the best mediums through which to tap into natural magic is through natural chaos- such as storms. Storms make me more powerful. Storms upset your footing. I have the advantage."

Buffy gave an unexpected grin and giggled. "So did the First Evil. But it forgot one very important thing."

Damn! He was losing his edge if he couldn't threaten a twenty-something year old girl with his powers! "And what is that?"

"Love."

"You're telling me you offered to kiss the First Evil to death? I've slept with you, Slayer, you are _not_ that deadly."

She glared at him. Considering she was standing in the rain, with her blond hair plastered to her skull and the back of her neck, her blue skirt and white shirt soaked through and partially see-through, Buffy looked like nothing so much as an orphaned street urchin. "I meant," she said slowly, "That they forgot Spike would love what me enough to die because he wanted me to live."

"Pfffft! Spike loved the inhuman side of you, and fixated on your humanity as a means of seeking redemption. It wasn't love in the way you mean."

"Exactly! See? He didn't love me!"

Ethan blinked. "I'm not sure I follow you."

"He didn't love me for me!"

"What does that have to do with the First Evil?"

Buffy waved the question away impatiently and ignored it. It was not, after all, important in the grand scheme of things. What was important, was that Ethan understand what it was she was saying. She hoped that he would, because she certainly didn't. "Ethan, how well do you know me?"

The man thought about that. "Sufficiently enough to say that I do know you. Why?"

"No, I mean, how many masks have I taken off in front of you?"

"Well, for one thing you've stopped threatening to break my neck on sight," he counted, "And you've stopped being so protective and frankly quite blind where Ripper is concerned. What else? Oh, and I know you have little or no alcohol tolerance."

"See?"

"You keep saying that! What am I supposed to see?"

"Apart from what's as plain as the nose on your face… I'm not sure. If you don't get it then you don't get it. I can't tell you."

Ethan Rayne was getting a headache. He was standing in the rain and talking to a young woman who wasn't talking in circles so much as meandering around the place before hopping into a completely different circle just when he had figured out her thought patterns of the conversation before. Which was surprising, because he was a chaos mage! Everything had patterns and there were few better than him at finding sense in the nonsense.

He concluded that defence was not a good position for him to be in. So he attacked.

"Slayer, are you saying that no one knows you as well as I do? Even considering the vampire who claimed to love you even unto death?"

Again, Buffy Summers surprised him. "Yes."

"I see… can it be that you like this state of affairs?"

"Like… don't like… it's all relative."

"Just how does it relate when it comes down to you and me?" He moved closer and put his hand on her shoulder. The appendage was back to its aged, worn look and he tried not to concentrate on the way it was so different from her smooth, young skin. "You will have to be specific, luv."

Buffy stiffened and fidgeted a little. Ethan sounded… angry. She knew him just that little bit better than not at all. And he never acted this way unless he was provoking her to something. And since she was being very immature and uncertain and not at all considerate of his continued requests to leave him alone, it stood to reason that he was angry. The problem was- how far would he go with this mask? He was quite capable of letting her fire up in indignation and letting her beat the crap out of him, just so he could laugh and spit at her feet and feel satisfied with himself.

"Giles thinks you're a logical choice."

"Do you really want to talk about your Watcher at a time like this?"

"I agree with him," Buffy said desperately, promising herself she wasn't reacting to the dark gleam in Ethan's eyes. That wasn't who she was any more. This was not like with Spike any more.

"Hmmm…"

That purr seemed to be eating her up from the inside out. So she did what any self-respecting young woman would who was being seduced against her will. She whimpered and lost herself in dark eyes that flamed and flared with the red glare of anger-fuelled magic.

Which is exactly what stopped Ethan in his tracks. Blue eyes were wide and the pupils dilated, staring up at him with an astonishing amount of fear.Five months on from the night he had saved her life and Buffy was this broken? He dropped his hand and looked away, giving her the time to get herself together.

"I'm sorry."

"About what, Ethan?"

"Slayer, surely you can see that this is a truly terrible idea?"

Buffy absently wiped her wet nose with her sleeve, forgetting the sleeve was just as wet. "I don't know what it is," she confessed, "But you made it feel better. And now the Council tells me that you're leaving for New Mexico in a few days. What's New Mexico got that London hasn't?"

The man laughed and flapped at the rain. "Sun," he admitted, "And a great amount of illegal substances for a very cheap price."

"Drugs?"

"Among other things."

"You do drugs?" Buffy was not very impressed.

"I do marijuana occasionally. Expands the mind, so to speak; awakens possibilities."

"I never knew you did drugs."

"I never did them around you."

"Are you an addict?"

"Not really. I gave that up a long time ago."

They were silent for a while, both trapped in their respective worlds. Ethan sighed as he looked from his doorway to the woman standing before him. Her face was currently turned away and she was looking at something in the far distance. A flash of memory darkened the sky and placed him in a car interior, with cool air pushing the wet hair away from her face as she shut her eyes and savoured it. Another flash of memory as he remembered the way she had felt twisting beneath him.

The sex had not been great, but it had been… satisfying. Something the both of them needed. Darkened rooms and slipped masks. Being who they really were?

Ethan grimaced at such pretentious thoughts. 'Who they really were', indeed! As if a mask was an assumed thing. "Take a walk with me, luv. I think we need to just think, eh? But together."

"It's all a mess, isn't it?" She smiled wanly at him. "How come I always get the weird relationships?"

"Nothing wrong in weird relationships, Slayer. I would have thought you'd know that by now, clever girl that you are."

"Clever, am I? Then how come I fell in love with two vampires, a secret government agent and… well, and."

"And?"

"And a dweeb who dumped me the minute I slept with him."

"Ah, yes. Parker, I believe."

"You know him?"

She seemed so surprised, Ethan crowed. So he shrugged and kept it gentle, tempering his words with a mild caress of his fingers on the back of her neck. "I did not always make a spectacle of myself when I came to Sunnydale. I had quite the clientele list in that little town."

"I'll bet," the slayer commented, "So you spied on me? The last ex who did that got himself slugged."

"But I wasn't an ex at the time so that rule does not count, my dear."

"Ethan, give me one good reason why we're out in the cold and wet."

Ethan chuckled quietly and threw his arms out as if to embrace the weather. "Ever played in the rain, Slayer?"


	9. A Summers Girl

Author's Note: This is the last chapter. I hope it's okay. I'm really going to miss this fiction; it was one of my favourites even if I didn't update so often. Thanks to all the reviewers for sticking around and being so encouraging. What can I say? I definitely wouldn't have finished it without you.

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"Mr. Giles, there's a man here to see you."

The Head of the Watcher's Council sighed as inaudibly as he could. "What's his name and business, Bianca?"

"He won't say, Mr. Giles." A whispered conversation took place and then Bianca's voice came back, a little uncertain, and a lot more peeved. "He says that he has a present for you that will not explode in your face, curse you, turn you into anything or otherwise incapacitate you."

"Alright, Bianca, send him in."

Giles sat back in his chair and hurriedly closed up the documents on his desk. For good measure, he stuffed them all into his desk and resigned himself to staying later than usual to get them back to order. When the expected knock came, he barely said, "Come in," before the door was opened.

Quite forcefully.

"Ripper, old chum!"

"Oh no, it's you," Giles groaned, "What the hell are you doing here, Ethan?"

Ethan held out a lumpy parcel with a very imperious hand and grinned in his usual sardonic way. "I had all these wonderful hints so's you could guess what this is," he replied, "But half the fun of presents is getting people to open them."

"I'm not touching anything you had a hand in," Giles snarked.

"Oh, now, Ripper, really! After all these years? After everything we've been through, you still don't trust me?"

Giles' answer was even more emphatic- "No."

Ethan's grin widened. "Alright, then. But I think you want this very much, Ripper."

"Suppose you tell me what it is?"

"Suppose I don't?"

"I can have ten Slayers in here in seconds flat."

Ethan was clearly unimpressed. He set the lumpy parcel on the desk- very carefully on its side- and took off his jacket. "It's getting too hot again," he complained, "Got off the plane from Los Angeles and it was almost as bad as back there."

"Los Angeles?" This, the Watcher had not expected. Mexico- yes. New Mexico- yes. But not Los Angeles. From the way Ethan's dark eyes were glowing, Giles had the suspicion that someone had been duped into reporting wrong. "You know our contact."

"Of course. That little boy was nothing like a chaos mage. He got squeamish thinking about goat's entrails."

"Why goat's entrails?" Giles asked, mystified by that one.

"I told him he needed goat's entrails to facilitate going back backwards into the past in a specific path. He had to put down his fork and breathe for a few minutes while I described exactly how to clean and cut them."

"Ethan, you don't need goat's entrails for that spell."

"Not unless you want to end up in the Ming dynasty when all you wanted was to get your client back three days to when he proposed to his girlfriend and did it so badly she refused to speak to him ever again," Ethan informed him, "Chaos mages must be tough and hard, Ripper. They must show no fear. Of goat's entrails, at least!"

"Because you've always been such a hero, eh?"

"Oh, no! I'm a coward and I've always said so." Ethan tossed his jacket into a chair with a self-satisfied smirk and followed it, stretching casually with a wide yawn.

Giles took the opportunity to look him over. The man was thin- as he always was- and annoying- as he always was- and there was a frenetic energy crackling around him that said he'd had a damned good time topping up on his powers. It wasn't all rest and relaxation on a chaos mage's holiday. A few oaths had to be renewed, a few intricate spells wrought… Giles remembered Ethan just starting out in chaos and the man was now the best in his field.

"See something different?" Ethan chuckled, rolling up his sleeves. He twisted his arms up to that green gaze and his smile got positively dizzy with triumph as he watched Giles jerk forward with an oath and run fingertips down the smooth skin. "Nice, isn't it?"

"What the hell… how did you… where did you…"

"Now, Ripper. What have I told you about stammering?" Ethan withdrew his arms and shook a finger at the other man.

Giles sat down and ignored that finger. At one time, he would have threatened to bite it off. For now, he was too surprised. Ethan was just sitting there! Looking as if he were rested and refreshed and ready to have all the phones in London ringing overseas' numbers for the hell of it! How it was even possible, the Watcher couldn't say. Such bonds were for life. It took years to let the bond weaken, let alone fade. Yet there Ethan sat, and he had managed to remove an irremovable dedication inked into his skin.

The man in question curled up in the chair and waved his hand at the packet. "Open it," he demanded.

It was a measure of how confused Giles was that he obeyed. Or optimistic? Possibly a combination of both where Ethan was concerned. The brown paper wrapping tore easily. But the package got smaller and smaller the more those callused fingers unwrapped.

Giles paused for a minute to glare when he heard a stifled laugh. But Ethan only blinked innocent dark eyes back at him. The Watcher shook his head and turned his attention back to the troublesome gift. "There will be a point to all this soon, yes?" he grunted.

"Keep opening," Ethan murmured, "You'll see soon enough."

By the time the paper fell away to leave another material behind, the present could fit into Giles's palm. He looked at it, looked up to Ethan's smug amusement and put it carefully down on the table between them. The present glittered quite innocently as they gazed soberly at it.

"Where did you get it?" Giles asked softly, mesmerized.

"A friend in Los Angeles," Ethan said, "A green demon with a great singing voice. Lorne, I think his name was."

Giles shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "Will it work?"

"It might. The firm wouldn't actually have killed them," Ethan admitted, "Not if I read them right. Dead, yes. But not exactly gone."

"Ghosts?"

"No. The little I can tell from initial examination is that this is just a key," Ethan explained, "They're being held in a kind of void. Unable to do anything but exist for an eternity. Wolfram and Hart wouldn't risk sending them on to either a heaven or a hell. It's too risky. Someone might bring them back… or send them back."

Giles nodded and ran a hand over the jewelled pattern on the surface. "How did Lorne get it?"

"I don't know, Ripper. He didn't stay long enough to tell me. He said he wanted nothing more to do with saving the world. He said it only killed people."

"I'll keep that in mind," Giles remarked dryly, "So this gives us the ability to enter the- what did you call it- the void, where they're being held? Do you know how many there are?"

Ethan shrugged. "My guess is that the two vampires are in there, certainly. Possibly the Watcher, because he shares a close understanding with Angel. I don't believe the Goddess will be there. She could have ceased to exist, or she could have been sent on to another dimension. Angering a Goddess is never a good move, even for Wolfram and Hart."

"What about the other man?"

"The lawyer? Don't know. I don't see any reason to put him in there with the other three. He was too removed, too dispensable."

"And Cordelia?"

"Dead. Plain and simple. She wasn't there at the end," Ethan sighed, "Wolfram and Hart wouldn't keep her around."

"So we have the ability to get to them," Giles mused, "What about getting them out?"

"I was thinking that little redhead of yours, Willow, might have a few thoughts on the subject."

"It's not impossible?"

"Ripper, if it wasn't impossible to put them in there then it isn't impossible to get them out." Ethan acquired a faraway look of fascination. "This should make for an interesting time."

Giles watched him as he turned things over in his head. Ethan had always been the most interested in magic. Not just as a power, but as a subject. And the very fact that he was prepared to work with the Council on this project was very ironic. The previous council would have had him in custody before he even got to the elevators.

"Mr. Giles?"

That snapped his attention and he pushed the little intercom button and said, "Yes," hoping that no one was dead, hurt, in trouble or blowing up parts of the building.

"Ms. Summers is… No! You can't go in there!"

Giles looked at Ethan and the former chaos mage had swivelled around in his seat and was looking at the door with a fond glow on his scraggy face. The Watcher shuddered.

"What are you doing here?" Buffy demanded, "Xander found out that you were in the building and he's gone to get an axe."

"I tremble in fear," Ethan agreed, "How long before he arrives?"

"A minute maybe?"

"Then one kiss, my bonny princess, and I shall fly out the window." Ethan didn't look at though he was about to do anything of the sort.

Buffy rolled her eyes and glared at him. "You may think it's a joking matter," she hissed, "But I can't believe you really have the nerve to waltz in here uninvited and try to…"

"Buffy, Ethan came here with a present," Giles cut in. He knew all about his Slayer's tirades. After the second sentence, they tended to get very long and very loud, often confusing things completely until she won by sheer pint-sized fury.

"And you didn't turn into anything?" she asked sarcastically.

Ethan looked hurt. "I didn't expect a hostile reception," he said, looking most subdued, "What did I ever do to you?"

"As to that…"

"He's brought back a medallion that can get us contact with Angel and Spike," Giles interjected desperately.

Ethan wished he were anywhere but there as he watched that flicker of hope and need flit across the expressive little face. Buffy never had been able to hide her thoughts effectively. It had its advantages, but sometimes Ethan wished she could just pretend. Just for once.

"Really? How? Is this like the medallion that got Spike back as a ghost the first time?"

Ethan shook his head and opened his mouth to give her a suitably evasive answer.

Giles held up a hand and inched to the door. "You could do with some time to yourself, I believe." He left the office and shut the door behind him.

Ethan watched Buffy stare at the shut door in cool contemplation.

"You know," she said suddenly, "He didn't need to do that."

"He was being polite, Slayer. He obviously thinks we have a few things we need to talk about. Poor Ripper; he is such an optimistic git." Ethan didn't even notice that he was putting on a mask. He was simply of the opinion that…

"Yeah, but this is his office. He could have just shoved us out the door and given me a longer lunch break," Buffy pointed out.

Less than a second later, her Watcher stalked back in, held the door open and gestured them out. "Take all the time you need," he said kindly, "Don't hurry back. And don't kill each other!"

"Yes, papa," Ethan quipped.

Their way out of the building was very quiet. Xander was indeed waiting there with an axe, but Ethan ignored him. Besides, Willow was right there with her best friend and the redhead was very firmly tugging on Xander's arm hard enough to keep him from decapitating anyone. Ethan quite liked the little redhead. She was a wellspring of untapped potential. Someone would have to teach her how to use it before she succeeded in blowing up the world, but he generally liked powerful people. Especially when they weren't actively trying to kill him.

When they got out of the building, Buffy turned to him, put her hands on her hips and let her lips go thin as she stared him up and down. Whatever was on her mind, she didn't voice it. Instead she dropped her defensive posture and said, "Where should we go?"

"I know a little place not too far," Ethan suggested, "Italian. My treat."

"Okay. But we'll split the bill."

Ethan laughed. He'd forgotten how stubborn this woman could be and it amused him no end that in spite of all her super strength and abilities, she still reacted with a temper tantrum. She was petulant and she was obstinate and she scored petty victories, but she was independent and woe betide anyone who unconsciously threatened to take that independence from her. He offered her his arm with a gallant little bow. "As My Lady wishes," he promised.

It was certainly a little place. Ethan had forgotten to mention that it was exclusive.

Not that he needed to worry. He had gone there so often with his better class of clients that they knew him by name and always gave him a table, even if it wasn't the best one. Ethan wasn't that important. But he was liked. Besides, he'd once done the owner a favour with the ratings board.

They were seated, they ordered, and they waited until they got their food before beginning. Then Buffy began to ask questions- many more questions that Ripper had because Buffy didn't know enough to take things for granted- questions Ethan didn't quite know how to answer. And then she asked other questions that Ethan didn't quite know how to answer but they weren't to do with Spike or Angel.

"Why did you let Giles do that spell for you?" she asked, playing with her pasta.

"I didn't get a choice, Slayer. He put it in a glass of slime and I drank it."

"Slime?"

"Hangover."

"Giles is drinking again?"

"No, Ripper is not drinking again." Ethan sipped at the house wine and hoped that the awkward questions would stop soon. "I turned up drunk at his house and he let me raid his alcohol cabinet."

"Oh. Do you drink a lot? Giles had a problem a few years ago. We only sorted it out recently," Buffy said bluntly, "So don't get him started again."

"I doubt he has the time, Slayer."

"Could you stop calling me that? My name is Buffy."

"It's Elizabeth, luv, and you are a Slayer. You always will be a Slayer."

"Until I die? Yeah, yeah. Enough with the doom and gloom. I've done that twice." She stabbed viciously at a hapless piece of mushroom.

Ethan put a hand over hers and carefully took the fork away. "Don't break anything here," he said severely, "Neither of us can afford it."

"Sorry. I'm just tired, I guess."

Ethan looked at her for a long moment, wondering how it could take an intelligent young woman so long to accept the facts- "You are the Slayer and there is nothing that you can do about that. It's not a burden, you know. Now you have a hundred other young women who can fight with you. Why must you persist in feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Excuse me?"

"Boo-fucking-hoo," he snorted, "No one understands you. No one cares. It's not true, you know. Any of your friends would give their lives for you. They've been doing it since they met you. They've changed and endured some things that even you can't understand and they've done most of it without even a shadow of your strength and power."

Buffy shook her. "At one time I would have agreed with you and felt guilty," she told him, "But the last time… I can't forgive them for the last time."

"The last time? When you died?"

"I haven't told a lot of people, Rayne, but I went to Heaven. And it was good! And then to come back to this… mess." She gestured around the restaurant. "You can't understand how much that hurts. It never stops hurting."

"I wouldn't expect it to. But you, my dear, are in the unenviable position of living your life consumed with thoughts of death. And no, I don't mean suicide."

"You just don't understand it, do you?"

"Buffy, I understand more about you than even you do."

She studied him, examining every line in his face and every gleam in his eyes. Ethan had always given that impression of really understanding her. Why? She didn't know. But he had. She'd trusted a lot to tell him the things she had, or to do the things she had around him. It was a little uncomfortable to think of it but she really didn't have the energy to regret. She just went from day to day, trying to find some way to exist.

"Besides," Ethan continued, "This has very little to do with Heaven, and a lot more to do with being a Slayer. You despise the job description. It's that simple."

"No, I don't!"

"Perhaps not completely. But in many ways you seem to do. You hate having to fight. You hate the responsibility. You hate the paperwork and you hate the hours."

She laughed because it was just like Ethan to make it all sound like a joke. But it wasn't. Not really. Not in the ways that counted. "You know, it gets lonely when you're walking down a street at dead of night when everyone else is at home with their friends and family."

"I know. Believe me I know."

"You're a chaos mage, Ethan. I walk down streets at midnight because people like you exist," she said acerbically.

"First, chaos mages do not always do evil. In point of fact, I've probably saved as many lives as you have," Ethan counted aloud, "Second, I'm not a chaos mage."

"Denial is not a good look for you."

"Neither is sarcasm for you, my dear. And I broke my oath to Janus. I no longer serve Chaos."

"You… but you… but how… I mean…"

Ethan smirked. "It seems that stammering is a disease. I do hope I don't catch it."

"But how?" Buffy settled on.

For the first time the smile slipped from the man's face, leaving a dark blankness in its place. A second later the pain was gone, swiftly smoothed away before Buffy got a bare glimpse of it. "It doesn't matter," Ethan sighed, "I had meant to do it sooner or later."

"I thought you loved chaos."

"I do. And I chose to dedicate myself to Janus. But I always agreed that if I lived to a ripe old age with all my body parts intact and accounted for, then I would retire from active duty. A lot like the army as a matter of fact."

"The army."

"Yes. But not those sadists in your democratic country."

"What did they do to you? You never did tell me."

Once again there was that flash of blank pain. "It doesn't matter."

"I think it does."

Ethan cocked his head and stared across at the girl trying so hard to slip past his defences. "What makes you think I would tell you?"

"I want to know?"

"Not good enough."

"I told you about me, Ethan. Now it's your turn. It's called friendship in case you don't know."

The look he gave her very clearly stated his opinion on the matter. Ethan didn't like friends. They tended to try to make him do things he didn't want to do and he wasn't very happy with being influenced. Except, he was forced to cede, for certain people. People he respected. People who could, as Buffy put it, kick his scrawny ass.

"What about because I care?" Buffy pursued.

"I would have to know how much."

Ethan had intended it as a joke but if there was one thing that Buffy had ever learned about Ethan, it was that all of Ethan's masks were no proof against brutal honesty. Ethan simply didn't expect it and so it threw him off every time. It was a risk, but what the hell! She'd missed him and it didn't even make her sit up straighter when the opportunity to communicate with Angel or Spike loomed. What did interest her was this strange man sitting across from her who annoyed her and teased her and didn't seem to mind that she could break every bone in his body without breaking a sweat. He never took it for granted, but then Buffy got the feeling that he could protect himself.

"I still wear that shirt you lent me," she told him, "It's too big but it feels nice."

He looked at her oddly. "You can keep it."

"I prefer having the real thing, though," Buffy coughed, looking intently down at decidedly cold pasta. She would have pushed it around a bit more to fill in the growing silence, but Ethan had taken away her fork.

Ethan didn't reply for the longest time. It didn't seem possible that she had said what he had heard. Why a vibrant young woman like her would want anything to do with an old man like him was something he couldn't understand. Buffy didn't have a father complex that he could see. She did seem to like age, but there was a difference between a vampire of several hundred years and a mortal man of fifty.

"You haven't said anything."

"What do you want me to say?" Ethan asked, looking genuinely interested in her answer.

"I don't know. You could say a lot of things. What do you want to say?"

"That you are making a very big mistake and seem to have confused me with someone else," he said promptly.

"Ethan?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

He grinned at her with a complete lack of fright at the threat and sipped on his wine again.

"See? Right there. You make me laugh," she accused, "And hey, it's not even like I want to laugh right now, but you make me do it anyway."

"It's not such a bad thing, luv."

"Why do you call me 'love' if you don't mean it?"

Ethan pondered the open curiosity. "It's too soon to mean anything actually important," he said cautiously, "It was just a convenience for the both of us, Buffy."

"Oh. I kind of hoped it more. Oh well, my mistake." She got up from the table. "You can pay for lunch. I'm going back to work."

She got less than halfway out of the restaurant before Ethan caught up with her. He grabbed her arm, pulled her back and then leaned down to speak in her ear. "Do you really want me to answer that in full view of everyone here? This time it isn't the ducks that we'll scandalize."

"Wha… oh. Eeew!"

"I recall a different reaction the last time," he laughed softly, yanking her ponytail playfully. "My place or yours?"

"Yours," Buffy said fervently, "My place is a mess."

"Now that's one thing I'll have to insist on. I don't like mess."

"Well, I don't like living with closed curtains and locked doors," she retorted.

"I suppose Ripper will do the spell for me."

"Ethan, you're an idiot," she said, "I'm not even sure I should like you at all."

So it wasn't important, then? The spell? He smiled and took her back to the table. "Tell you what," he said firmly, "Let's get this cleared up and have dessert first. And then if we still feel like it, we can go annoy Ripper for a while."

"Annoy Giles? Can you?" Buffy looked positively demonic.

Ethan hadn't seen her look like that before and he quite liked it. Buffy had a little mean streak in her. It could mean trouble, but then Ethan liked playing with trouble. It always afforded him a damned good time.

"Trust me," he sniggered, "There are things I can do that you won't even have thought of."


End file.
